


Latin Lessons

by TwilightDeviant



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightDeviant/pseuds/TwilightDeviant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick seeks to better himself mentally as a Grimm, expanding his knowledge of languages. He has a teacher in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Latin Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Renhardt Latin lessons AU born from talking with giuntolid on tumblr. Because in episode 4x13 Nick said he had picked up some Latin and I took that... way too many steps further.
> 
> I live in an unending AU where Nick selflessly let Juliette go when she had no memory of him. But there was still the super aggressive reveal of Sean's Zauberbiest side followed by the trip to the spice shop to cure everybody. Then Juliette left. And this fic takes place shortly after, so things maybe start off a little tense.
> 
> Past that the timeline is a little odd, more stretched out. Because I wanted to include the Volcanalis episode but not too soon. A really long time, many months, passes in the span of this fic, and I apologize if that’s not super obvious. Just go with it.

The door was open, ever the reminder of a boss who tried to convey himself as approachable and understanding. Nick knocked on its wooden frame anyway.

"Yeah," Sean called, and he finished reading the report he was on before looking up. Nick was a pleasant sight to see, but more for the break in monotony than anything else. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"No," Nick said. Then forcing a more casual air, he repeated himself saying, "Nah." He stood in the doorway for a moment before pulling a book from behind his back. It was thick and aged, peeling at the corners with brittle pages. The origin was obvious: penned by a Grimm's hand. Nick cleared his throat. "I thought I should maybe learn Latin. I mean, it comes up sometimes. And those quickie translators on the internet kind of do more harm than good."

Sean chuckled, fully aware of the chaos and inaccuracies there. "Good for you," he said. "I think the university has a night class."

"Yeah," Nick sighed, "with all my, uh..." He looked to the bullpen outside, but there were few people at that late hour and they were far enough away. "With my Grimm work, I might not be the most punctual student in a classroom."

"To put it lightly," Sean replied. "There are computer softwares nowadays that could be of some help." He knew what Nick was implying, but it was a power play to make him say it.

"I'm better with a teacher."

"Some people do learn better with a more hands on approach," Sean noted.

"Yeah." Nick would not make eye contact, focusing instead on the bland floor. His finger thumped the thick book cover. "And hey, I mean, you know Latin, right?" Nick knew he did. The question was a pointless one, a dance of avoidance.

"I do," Sean said. He folded his hands together atop his desk, weaving his fingers. "Would you like me to educate you in Latin, Nick?"

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," he said. "And if you're not too busy with some evil plot at the moment."

"No pokers in the fire right now," Sean grinned. "I'd be all too happy to teach you." He took his hands apart and picked up the papers he had been so preoccupied with. "But not tonight. I have some work to catch up on."

"Sure," Nick said. "Yeah, just... whenever."

"Tomorrow," Sean told him. "I had planned on making this an all-nighter to finally knock it out. Tomorrow evening I should be free."

"All right," Nick said. His head bobbed in agreement. "Tomorrow then."

"When your shift ends." With an exasperated sigh, Sean said, "If no Wesen decide to tear the city apart between now and then."

—

Luckily, none did.

The next day, Nick stood in the open door once again and knocked. Sean was in the middle of closing blinds against the setting sun. He beckoned Nick inside.

"Get the other windows, yeah?" he asked. 

Nick shut the door and complied. He tried not to consider his coworkers' thoughts, what they were possibly thinking of him sealing himself inside with the boss. They might believe him to be in for a terrible lecture, a strange occurrence for the star pupil. And they would receive no answer as he planned to stay for an hour at least, well past the end of their shifts.

"How you wanna do this?" Nick asked as he turned the last set of blinds. They were alone now, cast away from the world on an island separated not by water but by walls.

"I'm not sure," Sean admitted. "I've often been the student, rarely the teacher."

"If you don't think you can—"

"Nonsense," he dismissed, "you're a fast learner, Nick. I've watched you grow." He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Why don't you go ahead and drag that over here?"

"On your side?" Nick questioned. Over the years he had leaned against walls. He had sat on the far chairs, the bookcase, and especially the provided seats as they faced the desk. But never had he been on the captain's side before. 

"Sure," Sean said, waving him over. "Let's not confine ourselves to normal classroom settings. I'd really rather not teach upside down."

Nick shrugged and dragged the chair over with a loud scrape. Sean sat, and then he did. There was less than a foot between them. It felt awkward and overly familiar, but Nick knew he would make a bigger spectacle of himself shifting the noisy chair around.

"Where do we start?" he asked, dropping his giant journal onto the desk.

Sean chuckled and pushed the book aside. "Probably not there, but I do admire your ambition." He opened his desk drawer and took out a sheet of paper. "No, I took the liberty of making you a quick reference sheet." Nick took it and looked the paper over. A very neat hand had written various letters with their correct pronunciations to the side. "The great thing about Latin," Sean said, "is that most letters are fairly simple and consistent with what sound they make."

Nick made a grunting sound of acknowledgment as he read them. "Little confusing right now, but I think I'll get it. Just memorization, right?"

"Basically," Sean agreed. "And as someone whose native tongue is neither English nor Latin, allow me to say you lucked into the harder one, with all its slang and odd pronunciations. Latin should be a breeze in comparison, once you get past sentence structure and gendered nouns."

"It is so weird," Nick said, "trying to remember you're like European royalty."

"Royal bastard," Sean corrected.

"Yeah, a bastard." He paused, wanting to ask but trying his hardest to avoid casual conversation. Nick knew that unless some new manipulating plot was revealed they were not enemies. But he was not looking to name the man as friend either. He asked anyway. "So you... should have an accent, right? I just don't really hear it when you talk."

"Yes," Sean told him, "I worked hard getting rid of it. The climb to power is easier when people don't think you're foreign. Unfortunate, but still true. So," he waved his hand, "this is me now."

Nick grinned. "Well," he said, "let's hear it, the accent."

Sean's face fell, losing some of its amusement. "If a man works to discard his accent," he said, "he probably doesn't want to bring it back up."

"Right," Nick said, feeling as though he could kick himself very hard. "That was stupid of me. My mistake. I am a jerk."

"No harm done," Sean said with a smile. "Just consider me American now."

Nick nodded his head. Then he picked up his pronunciation cheat sheet. "So these letters," he said with a deep exhale.

They worked on the Latin letters for a long while, saying them over and again, first Sean and then Nick. One tone was firm and proper, the other its sloppy echo. But he got better as the night went on. Sean was strict in forcing him but supportive of his accomplishments.

Nick did not even notice the time until his mouth stretched wide with a yawn and his eyelids drooped with sleep. He looked at his watch. "Oh man," he exclaimed. "I should have left over an hour ago." 

"Important meeting?" Sean asked. He leaned back to allow Nick his rushed exit as he stood and gathered his things.

"No," Nick said. "No, I just," he slipped his jacket on, "didn't want to be at this all night. I'm sure you have stuff to do."

"I could always find something," Sean agreed, "but you're not inconveniencing me, Nick. It's good that you want to learn. It means you understand that being a Grimm is about more than brute strength." He smiled and it was one of deep thought and contemplation. He smiled because his mind's conclusion was pleasing. "You're very different, Nick. I hope you know."

Nick nodded his head with a halting irregular motion. The compliment was an odd one and he was not sure what to say. "Thank you?" he guessed. Then he stammered for a moment before saying, "Do I, uh, owe you anything for this?"

"You want to pay me?" Sean chuckled. He looked utterly amused at the idea. It was obvious in all Nick knew about him that he did not need the money. He certainly made far more in a paycheck, and his condo had voiced an unspoken impression of independent wealth.

"Well, for your time," Nick said. "It's like a job."

"You're not a job, Nick." It was a simple comment but it carried some warmth, a comforting promise to lay his fretting mind at ease. It made Nick relax more in his presence, if only by the smallest of increments.

"Still," Nick said, "I should probably..." He trailed off and picked up his book, shuffling backwards for the door. "Just, uh, let me know what nights work for you. Maybe we can make out a schedule or something."

"Sounds good," Sean said, and he allowed Nick his retreat without another word to stop him. "Good night."

"Night." 

—

If all the right variables aligned themselves and no rogue Wesen intervened, Latin lessons took place every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. More often than not though at least one of those nights would be interrupted. Whether it be Nick's Grimm work or some matter of Sean's that came on suddenly and with secrecy, they were delayed. But they always rescheduled to the next day of convenience.

Nick thought he learned slowly, and Sean did his best to disprove that notion. He was smart and a quick learner, and the man had not lied about that.

As the schedule of days was often irregular, so were the hours. Nick insisted on keeping their small class down to an hour, maybe two, but they almost always went over. Sean's motive could not be guessed in allowing the time to slip, but Nick knew he himself was simply distracted by learning. When it was a beneficial subject, relevant and with life saving potential, he could be very bad about diving in and staying long beneath the surface.

Eventually it became undeniably obvious how the sessions would drag, and they began to order takeout. It was an addition put in place the first night Nick's stomach started growling. Sean admitted to being hungry as well and before Nick could protest, he had the Chinese restaurant from down the block on the phone.

But it was hard to teach with food in their mouths and on a desk cleared for boxes instead of papers. Harder still it was to endure the silence. Perhaps Sean had no problem sitting through it, but it wore at Nick, the social butterfly. "So you wanted to be a doctor?" he spoke conversationally, grasping at any subject he could.

Sean sucked up a noodle from his fork and covered his mouth from the uncouth display. "Hmm?"

"Why you learned Latin," Nick elaborated. "That's what you said, right? You learned because you'd thought about being a doctor."

Sean chuckled. "Well, at the time I couldn't really tell you it gave me an advantage against certain Wesen organizations, the Lowen Games being one."

Nick stopped to chew a bite of chicken, then swallowed. "Fair enough," he conceded. "No Doctor Renard then."

"No, I did consider the path," he said. "I just didn't learn Latin because of it."

"Why the change?" Nick asked. "Not cut out for it, or did being captain of police have more pull?"

"Well, there's no reason it can't be both," Sean answered with a grin and a shrug. "The medical profession, it was deeply rooted in childish idolatry more than anything. I watched my mother help people in need for many years. And though she charged a hefty fee, it was... admirable, inspiring."

"Your mother," Nick said, "doctor or..."

"Hexenbiest," Sean supplied. "But I was never so talented as to learn what she knew. There's a natural aptitude required for that line of work. I didn't have it, I am sad to say. And then I turned out to be equally inept in modern day practices, for all that I did complete my pre-med courses."

"I'm sure you weren't that bad," Nick said, waving off the dour assertion.

"I do not have healing hands," Sean said with a shake of his head. "But what I have done is made my peace with that."

"And becoming a cop in America?" Nick asked.

"I was already in America at that time," he said. "Portland provided an even greater divide from my family. And becoming a policeman seemed like a decent bid for power, nice room for advancement. It supplies me with many opportunities while keeping me away from the media scrutiny forced on politicians."

Nick hummed, impressed. "That is," he said, "very well thought out."

"Well," Sean stated, "if I wasn't always three steps ahead, I'd have died at a tragically young age."

"Then I guess I can understand the need for it," Nick allowed.

"But that's enough about me," Sean said, and in all Nick had learned of the man, he seemed to be his own least favorite subject of talk. He was rather personal, and that he had shared so much was surprising. But then, as Nick realized, he really had not said much beyond what was already known. "Let's talk about you. Why did you become a cop?"

Nick took a deep breath and blew it out. "I like to help people," he said, patting his thigh. "It really doesn't get much deeper than that."

"Or perhaps it does," Sean said. "Most Grimm feed only their most basic instinct to kill, but not you, Nick. You're different. You genuinely want to use your ancestral gift to protect people."

"Not that big a deal," Nick said, and it was not. He believed, if given the choice, most people would make the right decision in a moment of crisis.

"It really is," Sean told him. His point was conveyed to its utmost depths throw searing eye contact. It was as though he stared into Nick's soul, and perhaps he did. Who was Nick to argue the full range of a Zauberbiest's powers? Either way, his assertion felt thoroughly established.

"All right," Nick said, and he was the first to look away, intimidated as he was. "Thanks, I guess."

Sean nodded his head, and when Nick looked back, his stern face was suddenly so hesitant. He twirled his fork through the last strings of noodles as distraction. It was now him who could not make eye contact. "It is," he slowly admitted, "very refreshing to know you, Nick. Amid a lifetime of backstabbers and greedy opportunists, you're the first person I've ever felt I could trust, aside from my own mother." He looked as though he had more to say but could only confess so much at once.

"What can I say?" Nick spoke. "I wish I could say the same."

"I understand that you can't trust me," Sean said, and he did seem very forgiving of the reluctance. "I've given you every reason not to. But I have helped you so much as well, and I will continue to help you in any way I can."

Nick had nothing to say in kind. He would work amicably with his captain, but for the foreseeable future it would be with one eye open and a back he would not turn.

"So this Latin," he said with a big huffing breath. It was an obvious subject change, but he was not so prideful as to pretend it was anything else. 

Nick consumed his last pieces of chicken in one large bite and threw the container in the garbage. Then he picked up the vocabulary sheet they were working through and began reading back over it with exaggerated emphasis.

Sean did nothing but correct his pronunciation as needed.

—

They continued thusly for some time, though Nick always did his best to keep the conversation from turning so heavy. Then one evening everything changed again.

Nick walked in, ready for his lesson, but Sean was slipping into his coat.

"Hey," Nick said, confused, "what's up? I thought we were on for tonight."

"We are," Sean said, and he flipped the collar of his long coat into place. "But as much as I like the occasional treat of takeout, I don't think I can keep it up three nights a week. Come on," he insisted, "grab your jacket. I'll cook."

"What," Nick asked dumbly, "you mean at your house?"

"Mine or yours," he permitted. "Just not the office and not food from a box."

Nick contemplated the change in venue, the swap that made what they did less of an after work lesson and more like friends hanging out. But then he gave more thought to how— unless Monroe and Rosalee had him over— he was eating out seven nights a week to the captain's meager three. It was not in his yearning stomach to turn down a home cooked meal. "My place is just depressing," he sighed. "Yours it is."

"Think you can remember how to get there?" Sean asked.

"Yeah," Nick said. "Yeah, I think I got it."

If Nick thought spending time with his captain after work was too familiar, it felt insignificant compared to sitting in the man's living room. 

There were the banging, chopping, sizzling sounds of dinner being made in the adjoining room. If Nick only turned his head, he might have seen whatever Sean was cooking them. But he kept his eyes focused on his pages of supplied Latin, pretending to read but feeling far too awkward for any progress.

He switched which leg rested over which knee again and again. He leaned on the armrest but traded it a moment later for the pillow on his other side. The couch he sat on was soft and firm in all the right places, yet he could not relax. 

Just as he decided to stand instead, Sean called him to dinner.

It was a small circular table, intimate, more for breakfast and coffee than dinner. Nick wondered if the man entertained often and would have preferred if they were at opposing ends of a table meant for large dinner parties.

"This is good," he said of the food. It was the obligatory compliment to give a person who had cooked specifically for you, yet Nick would have said it anyway. He had no idea what it was he ate— his palate and culinary knowledge did not extend so far— but he knew he liked it.

"I'm glad to hear it," Sean said. 

Nick found he felt uncivilized in Sean's presence because, as it became very apparent, the man adapted to the situation. Closed off in an office with takeout made them fairly equal. But a dinner with glasses of wine and silver utensils? Nick could not help but notice Sean's change. There was a napkin placed just so in his lap. His elbows were at his side and nowhere near the tabletop; Nick drew his own down upon noticing. He held his wine glass by the stem and drank knowledgably, as though he intimately knew the vintage from vine to bottle and all its processed steps between. Truly he was a prince, never mind the muddied waters therein. Across from him Nick felt horribly inadequate.

"Maybe I should take etiquette lessons next," he joked.

Sean did not seem to grasp what he was implying, and when Nick gestured between them and their contrasting manners he smiled. "I don't mind," he said. It was evident he had not even noticed. "Eat however you want, as long as you're comfortable."

Comfort seemed an optimistic stretch. But good food and drink did help. They made it through dinner and to their lesson afterward.

Nick had thought— or perhaps he had hoped— that it would be conducted at the table. When he excused himself to the restroom and returned, however, Sean was sitting on the couch waiting for him.

The adjacent cushion seemed too informal a place to sit. The next one over was too far to be convenient. Therefore Nick sat between the two, right across where they met. It was uncomfortable.

If Sean noticed or thought anything of Nick's awkward seating, he did not comment. They continued on as usual. 

It was easier to let time slip in Sean's condo. Minutes fell away and with them went Nick's unease. He found himself shifting closer if Sean had an example to point out to him. Eventually he ended up fully seated on the nearer cushion, if still on its outmost edge. And the first time he took notice of the chiming grandfather clock was as it struck ten.

"Oh," Nick groaned as he stopped to rub his eyes. They grew so tired from reading on into such a late hour. "Man, I did not know it was that late."

"Yes, you should probably go," Sean said. It was a credit that he managed to say such a thing with concern, not at all as if he was pushing Nick out the door. "Morning will be here sooner than you think. And you still have to drive home."

How lucky of Sean to have no more traveling for the night. Nick considered having their next lesson at his house but decided against it, though he could not say why.

They continued on in that way. One night of their weekly three would still end up at the office with fast food. That was unfortunate because even in such a large city with its many offerings, Nick's reacquaintance with the bachelor lifestyle had led him to memorize every restaurant and its menu. Slowly, then all at once, he grew quite tired of takeout. 

He did not want to impose, and thus would never ask, but he did very much prefer evenings of dining in with homemade food. He wished it was every night.

—

Eventually Nick was encouraged to bring his inherited journals, though he had long been trying to translate them on his own. It became an easier process with expert help.

Many of the creatures they read about— for some could not clearly be called Wesen— not even Sean could give much information on, if any. They were ancient and secret beings. If not for the journal mentions by past Grimm, there would be no knowledge they existed. Nick and Sean learned those together.

And then, one fiery night, all of Nick's training became of use, or at least he tried to make it.

Monroe held up the antiquated journal in his hand, believing its subject to be Volcanalis. Nick confirmed. "That's what we saw tonight," he said, and his skin burned in mere memory of that Hellish heat. His breath was sucked from his chest to evaporate. 

"I'll tell you what, dude," Monroe stated, nodding his head at the rendering, "this looks a little bit like what in my book is known as 'El Diablo'."

"What do they write about him?" Nick asked, glancing towards the book but unable to see from so far away.

"I dunno," Monroe sighed. "It's all in Latin."

"Yeah?" Nick said. "Let me see." Monroe shrugged and handed the book to him. Nick looked at the handwritten account, but too few words stuck out. "'Bis,'" he read. "Uh, 'twice.' 'Twice I met' maybe."

"You speak Latin now?" Monroe snorted. 

"Apparently not," Nick said with a morose exhale. He studied the book but knew he could only do so much and closed it. "Not well enough. I could get maybe half of this, and I'd rather not charge in on that." 

"So what?" Monroe questioned, waiting for his lead.

"Well," Nick said, "we can always get my teacher."

If he had been given a hundred guesses, Monroe might have used them all and never thought they would end up at the police station in Captain Sean Renard's office. He said very little and only watched as Nick put the journal on Sean's desk and asked for a translation.

"I have a better idea," the man said. He stood and gestured for Nick to take his seat. "You read it."

"Obviously I already tried," Nick scoffed. But Sean would not relent and so he sat. The man loomed above him, bent far over his shoulder. He could see the text completely and most likely knew the entire translation already. What a waste of time to push a lesson. "Well, I'll catch you up to how far I got earlier," Nick muttered. "'Twice met.'"

"'Having twice met,'" Sean said.

"Yeah," Nick sighed, "I didn't know that word." He shrank into the chair, feeling like an elementary student called on without knowing the answer. Sean touched his shoulder as encouragement and the sensation of it was obvious, unavoidable. Nick did not hate it, but neither did he welcome it.

"Go slowly," Sean said, and his voice was in Nick's ear. He was caged on either side by encouraging hand and whispering lips.

"This one?" Nick asked, pointing to the next word as he ignored the man behind him, around him.

"'Molten,'" Sean said, and Nick doubted if he even looked at the page.

"'Molten beast,'" Nick read. It felt pathetic how often he asked for help, but Sean gave no implication of disappointment. Instead he seemed rather surprised when Nick effortlessly translated some words. And there were others the man had fun with. "'Old snake,'" Nick said.

"'Ancient serpent,'" Sean insisted.

"Is there a difference?" he asked.

"Not really," Sean said, and he was so close that Nick could only see his smile from the corner of his eye. "But it sounds much, much cooler."

Nick smiled as well. He forced great, sarcastic emphasis and said, "'Ancient serpent, Satana.'"

It took a little while, longer than one lone expert, but they did finish the small passage together. Nick felt proud of himself, even with all the help. Sean rubbed his shoulder and Nick looked at him with a mirthful grin and silent chuckle.

"What am I looking at here?" Monroe asked slowly, as though he was not truly seeking the bizarre answer.

Nick had all but forgotten the Blutbad was there. He cleared his throat and stood in a hurry, knocking back Sean and the chair. "So," he said, walking away from the desk, "assuming what we saw tonight is what's in the book, any suggestions?"

"I don't think we'll be able to fight fire with fire on this one," Sean stated.

Nick thought for a moment then said, "Markus knows more about him than anybody."

Sean considered his proposal and nodded. "It's worth a try." Then he looked to Monroe and asked, "You in?"

"Gee, I dunno," Monroe replied. "Are you sure you guys even need me? I feel like I'm looking at the dream team here." Nick thought for sure he was reeling over feelings of betrayal that he had never been informed of Nick's late night Latin teacher. He was about to apologize when Monroe waved it off, perhaps noticing his concern. "I'm just kidding, man. Saving Portland? Hell yeah. Count me in."

As far as Grimm missions went, the night they fought Volcanalis held much fear, but they won with ease. Nick would never begrudge the offer of so much help. He idly wondered if Sean would ever volunteer his services again. Because Monroe was right. They did make a good team.

The encounter with Volcanalis also assured Nick that learning as much as possible was the right choice, should he ever not have that promise of assistance. Therefore he no longer eyed the clock when he was at Sean's condo. He left when he felt the lesson was done and not a minute before. Sean never kicked him out or grew impatient, so Nick did not fret too much on thinking he imposed.

—

It must have been close to midnight one evening when Sean began looking at his watch, over and over, as though he were anxious.

"I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?" Nick asked.

"Just a phone call," Sean said. 

"Go," he insisted, waving the man off. He did not know what could be so important or would need such a late hour to be said, but he afforded the man his privacies. "I'll be here when you're done."

Sean thanked him and left to make his call. He closed the door to his bedroom, shutting himself off inside. 

It took longer than he had thought, as such clandestine matters often could. He grew dizzy from pacing in a circle and soon sat down on the bed. The relaxed comfort caused him greater loss of time.

When Sean finally ended his call and looked at his watch, it was well after one o' clock in the morning. He harbored no doubts that Nick had left during his absence. Therefore his surprise must be noted when he stepped out and Nick was still there. He was, however, asleep on the couch.

The mighty hunter had allowed himself to fall so low, more defenseless than a child. That he slept before Sean, at the tentative mercy of a man he had once thought to kill, was foolish and a risk. But it was equally endearing.

Nick did not think he was a threat.

No, there was a better way to say it, a kinder way to word it. Nick trusted him.

Sean knelt beside him and shook his shoulder. "Nick," he said, "you need to go home."

A disobedient moan growled itself out of Nick's throat. He did not move. Sean shook him again. "I don't wanna go home," Nick said, speaking his slurred and tired words into the cushion. "It's sad there, lonely."

Sean would not force him to leave, not if he did not want to. "Okay," he said. He took a blanket and draped it over the Grimm, the righteous killing machine that trusted him. 

Nick's hair had fallen into his eyes, reminiscent of when he used to wear it down. The style made him look young, innocent. Sean reached out and brushed it away, back above that dark hairline. His hand lingered past propriety.

—

Nick woke first, as people do in unfamiliar settings. He felt horribly embarrassed upon realizing what had happened, more so when he sat up and the blanket fell off his shoulders. "Oh boy," he groaned. He had just spent the night at his boss's. 

His one saving grace was that he did not work that day. Because he never could have made it back to his house and changed in time. He kept a spare shirt in his desk, but he did not entertain the idea of retrieving it, enduring the little taunts that he marched a walk of shame. No, he did not work, thankfully. Only the doorman downstairs would think to question last night's happenings. That was bad enough.

He owed Sean nothing but a thanks for the blanket and the couch, but leaving before he woke felt rude. Nick put on coffee.

Be it the brewing smell or his normal hour to shine, Sean showed himself not too longer after. He wore only a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and no shame. "Good morning," he greeted. Added upon his many credits was the newest one: he did not sound surprised or awkward at all, as if waking up to an employee making coffee in his condo was perfectly normal. 

"Yeah," Nick said, and he could barely force out his reply of, "morning."

Sean sat at the bar, leaning on his bare arms. "Sleep all right?"

Nick put a hand to his neck, massaging a sore spot. "Not really," he said. "I am definitely getting too old to sleep on couches." He began looking for mugs with all the self gifted boldness of someone who rightfully lived there. He eventually found them but only after having gone through several cabinets. "How you take it?" he asked as he poured them each a cup.

"Cream, one sugar," Sean answered, and Nick could hear the delight in his voice.

Nick leaned against the counter and gently slid the second cup across. "So yeah," he said. "Thanks for the couch. And I'm sorry I passed out on you like that. Won't happen again."

Sean sipped his coffee. "I didn't mind," he said. "It's not like I had plans to use the couch between then and now. Feel free to use it anytime you want. That is," he cleared his throat, "if you don't feel like going home."

"Probably gonna pass," Nick said, "but I'll keep it in mind if we go late again."

They drank their coffee with idle small talk. Sean offered to make them breakfast, but Nick declined. He had no reason not to and no reason to excuse himself. So he simply said he had errands planned for his off day. They absolutely could not wait.

Sean saw him to the door, and in his state of half-dress Nick was glad the hall was empty.

If he were a man to learn from such mistakes, Nick would have gone back to watching the clock three nights a week. But he weighed the pros and he weighed the cons, and he decided he would risk staying late.

And though the worst did happen, he ended up falling asleep so rarely, and only when Sean left him alone for too long. It was simply another change in the arrangement, a minor, infrequent one at that. Really it was hardly worth mentioning. And so he did not. On those mornings when he woke up at Sean's, he made coffee and they talked about anything except Nick making himself at home on the couch. After it happened several times, he finally let Sean make them breakfast. It was delicious.

Nick told himself the entire thing was beyond his control. Some nights he made it home and some nights he could not go on. And yet somehow he never managed to fall asleep when there was work the next day. But that must surely have been coincidence.

There were, thankfully, better changes than leaving the boss's house the morning after. In fact, Nick found one rather humorous, given how the department took it. 

The information was sensitive and Wesen related. Of course he could not say it in a room full of people. But dragging knowledgeable parties away could be equally difficult sometimes. So, without further care, Nick said what he had to, but he said it in Latin for secrecy's sake. 

His sentences were crude and fairly broken, but Sean understood easily enough. Then he replied with natural elocution, taking care to use words on Nick's level. They spoke back and forth until an agreement was reached. 

It was not a long conversation, but it dealt damage. Within the station they were dubbed the pretentious Latin snobs. It was all in good fun, so neither Nick nor Sean fought the joking especially hard.

"You were very good the other day," Sean told him over dinner. 

A Wesen case was always cause for much disruption in Nick's life after hours. They had been unable to meet for three days. It was nice to have dinner begin with praise. 

"Thanks," Nick smiled. "But I think I said half of everything wrong. Sentence structure gets me every time. And don't even get me started on pronunciation. I swear my tongue weighs a ton saying anything other than English."

"There were a few mistakes that I remember," Sean told him, "but far less than you think." He put his hand over Nick's where it sat on the table and gave an encouraging squeeze. "We'll work on them tonight."

Nick wanted to pull his hand away. The gesture was nothing bad, and yet it did not feel right, did not feel appropriate given their work relationship.

Sean moved first, picking his fork back up as though nothing were wrong. It was only a hand, after all. And perhaps it was.

They began speaking Latin more often, for all that it was a dead language. Nick became more fluent, his self-proclaimed lead tongue more nimble.

The clock was ignored. Nick paid no mind to where he sat on the couch or how close it was to Sean. And if he fell asleep, he felt no guilt or shame for it. Their lessons had progressed in such accumulating ways, and not strictly through the learning of Latin.

—

"You're off tomorrow?" Sean asked late one night.

Nick felt he had given himself away with one jaw cracking yawn. His embarrassment from having Sean guess his intent to stay was overshadowed by the realization that the man had figured out his system. "Yeah," Nick said sheepishly. "But I should, uh, get home." 

He began gathering his papers into a stack, but a calm hand stopped him, resting on his arm. "No hurry," Sean said. "And you're welcome to the couch, of course."

"I cannot keep sleeping on this thing," Nick groaned. He felt the soreness of his attempt every morning after.

"We could switch occasionally," Sean offered.

Nick snorted. "You think you can sleep on this couch?" He looked at Sean's long legs and then to the short cushions they were sitting on. "You are aware I barely fit on this thing, right?"

"It's not so bad." Sean smirked and he leaned back to throw his legs across Nick's lap. They went over onto the next cushion. "See, I fit fine."

"Yes, but you're also still sitting," Nick pointed out. He pushed Sean's legs back down to the floor. "I should go home."

"I'll see you out," Sean said, and he began helping Nick collect the scattered pages of Latin. Their hands touched and it carried that noticeable spark throughout Nick's body, the sensation which could never be ignored. "I'm not sure if I say this enough," Sean cleared his throat, "but it really is admirable that you do this, Nick."

"It's just a second language," Nick dismissed. "People do it all the time. No big deal." He tried to convince himself of that, but Sean had a way of making everything he did seem so special, as though he were on a pedestal in the man's eyes.

"It's not just the fact that you're learning it," Sean explained. "It's why you are." He smiled and it was full of such fondness. "You don't learn or train for personal betterment. You do it so you may become a more capable Grimm, so you can help as many people as you can." He held up the stack of papers he had gathered, but their eyes were on each other, not the pages. "It truly is admirable, Nick, inspiring. I've never met anyone so earnest and genuine in all my life." He chuckled lightly, fully aware of the cliché he was about to utter. "Don't laugh when I say it, but... you make me want to be a better man."

Nick could not have laughed if he wanted. The situation was too serious. Sean's words felt too sincere. He meant them and it was obvious. "Wow, uh," Nick stammered, "I don't really know what to say to that."

"I don't expect even a thank you," Sean told him, and his voice sounded low and quiet, like a confided whisper. Suddenly they seemed so close. Their placement together on the couch was revealed as the tight intimacy it had always been, with thighs now touching and papers held between them like a bridge waiting to be crossed. Sean took Nick's hand and placed it on the offered pages beside his own. The stare between them never wavered. "I just wanted you to know what you've done to me."

The man beside him, Fate's cruel joke of Royal but bastard Wesen, was an open book with the page upon vulnerability. They spoke often, but that moment was the first time Nick believed he was truly seeing him, peeking beneath the varied layers of self protecting armor. What he saw was endearing and he felt himself unique and honored. It was as precious and rare as the most valuable of gifts.

The kiss was equally unique. In a bizarre situation of heavy emotions, no one man could have been at fault if blamed later. Each came halfway as if the unprecedented, unplanned idea had sprung to life in both their heads simultaneously. They met in the middle.

It was tender at first, hesitant, afraid of redesigning reality. Sean dropped his hold on the papers to grab Nick's hand instead. He used the other to touch Nick's face, his jaw, his neck and hair. Those fingers felt so caring, giving gentle reverence.

Sean bit Nick's bottom lip, lightly, nothing more than pleading request. Nick pulled away instead and turned his head. His breath was heavy, but it was from thrill, not exertion. 

"I just kissed my boss," he groaned. Then he repeated it, cementing the fact into his head. "Yeah, I just kissed my boss."

"And I kissed an employee," Sean said, "which is much, much worse." He dipped around Nick's turned head and kissed him again, conveying he had, as yet, no mind for consequences.

Nick enjoyed it in every wrong way and right way his mind could process. "I should really go," he whispered, and his lips brushed Sean's with each sound. He made no move to leave. Their mouths were so close, promising more but putting off the desired gratification for denial and unwanted thought. They were both too strategic in life to ignore it for long. "I should."

"You could stay."

The proposal brought ideas to Nick's mind he felt embarrassed even imagining. It also dragged him to his senses. That was a step he could not take.

Nick was off the couch in one quick move. He could not even look in Sean's direction. "I have to go."

Sean let him leave, no word or action to delay him.

—

In all matters of life, Nick considered himself brave, practically fearless. Therefore he allowed the one cowardice action of fleeing Sean at every turn. 

Days passed and Nick avoided ever being alone with him. Even when Sean asked him to his office, Nick promised he would be there but then never showed. Phone calls went to voicemails, which went unheard.

It was obvious the man wanted to talk, but what could they say? Nothing should have happened. And maybe Sean agreed, but what if he instead wanted more? Continuing what they started would be disastrous. 

If word got out, there were no best case scenarios. Sean could be reprimanded, possibly fired. They might transfer Nick to a different precinct. There were rules and reasons why those sorts of relationships should never happen.

And so busy was Nick worrying over both their jobs, he barely had a spare thought for any other implications the situation carried. They were too different, everything about them. Nick ate junk food in front of the television and washed it down with beer. Sean cooked gourmet dinners with wine, and if Nick were not there, he most likely played opera or like while he did it. 

But of course all of that still did not touch their history, and that was a tall tree of discord that had been planted and grown long before they were born. A relationship, Nick decided, even a fling, would be too difficult. His life as it was and when it was could not allow for more strife.

For so many reasons, anything between them would be irresponsible, chaotic, and Nick saw it ending in only bad ways. Want and the idea that it existed did not matter. He helped them both in stopping everything at the beginning.

Then, after days of desperately trying to speak with him, Sean came up behind him at his desk. He leaned low and whispered in Nick's ear so only they would hear. "I understand and I apologize." He left.

And suddenly Nick felt guilt. It ripped through him like a cold and crashing wave that spread destruction and ruined beauty. In all his selfish avoidances and ruminations Nick had never taken a moment to spare Sean's feelings, be it with an acknowledgment or the informed decision on how things must be. The man must surely have believed Nick despised him. 

What a coward he was, a procrastinating coward. Nick gambled with his life every day. Was he truly so fearful that he could not put a few things within it at risk?

For the rest of the afternoon, Nick gave the subject only mindless thought. He had already made up his mind. And when his shift was over, when most of his coworkers had already left, Nick walked to Sean's office.

He knocked on the doorframe, as was his custom. Sean looked up from his desk. "Nick," he greeted, and there was no implication of turbulent history there. The man was as accommodating as always. "What do you need?"

"Well," Nick spoke, feeling uncharacteristically timid, "I know it's been a week. I think we're due for a lesson." He coughed awkwardly and stepped further into the office with his eyes on the floor and no higher. "Maybe your place, dinner, some Latin on the couch." With a great deal of difficulty and embarrassment, he managed to say the implicit sentence, "I don't work tomorrow."

Sean put down everything he had been working on. He walked around, sparing one quick look to those outside, and leaned against the front of his desk. "Nick, I have nothing more to teach you."

That Nick was surprised to hear him sat that was a surprise in and of itself. He had no right to feel that way, not after how he had treated Sean for so many days, but the rejection did hurt. "Okay," he said, and he gave a little nod of his head. "Message received, loud and clear." He went to leave and salvage even an ounce of dignity, but Sean would not let him.

"Nick," he called, and Nick turned around. "There is nothing left to teach," he said again, but he spoke it in their tutored language so Nick would fully understand. At some point in the course of studying Latin, Nick had actually learned the language, mastered it as well as Sean could teach.

"Oh," was all Nick could think to say. That was certainly a relief, but at the moment he was still far too mortified to ask about where that left them. "So that's it then. Thank you, I suppose, for your time."

"You're welcome," Sean said. He looked as hesitant as Nick felt, but it could not be said if it was for the same reason.

"So, uh," Nick sighed, "good night."

"I speak French!" Sean hurriedly declared, nearly a shout. At Nick's very confused expression, he cleared his throat and said again, more plain, "I speak French. I speak… many languages actually. That is... if you think it might be useful that I teach them to you as well."

Nick smiled, broad and bright. "I have books in French."

**Author's Note:**

> Can we talk about the CANON FACT that Nick makes Sean want to be a better man? Cause bruh.
> 
> Also remembering the line where Sean said he wanted to be a doctor made me imagine an entire AU. The hot doctor covertly trying to kill Nick's aunt for her key. Talk about a meet cute. 
> 
> But really my impression is that Sean wanted to mix potions/zaubertranks (because he does seem to have the book smarts for it), but he just didn’t have the natural talent. Thus why he always gets others to do it for him. Poor baby.


End file.
